Thursdays with Turner: August 3, 2017

My Dear Sweet Turner,

It has been 19 weeks since our last perfect day together. 133 days since I’ve felt your body in my arms. I close my eyes and I can still see your beautiful face. Forever burned into my brain. Your dirty blonde locks of hair, your big hands and feet and skinny little legs. Skinny little legs just like your oldest sister had when she was born. Your little nose which you also share with your sister. You and Reagan are our only children who have that nose. So very different than the nose Thomas, Scout and Andrew share. Your perfect little body. I miss every bit of it. Wishing I had the privilege of raising you and watching you grow.

This past week has been so bittersweet. Coming home was so a different experience this time. Usually I love coming back home from vacation because I just want to be in our home and have those comforts again. This time the closer I got to our house the more at ease my heart felt. Almost as if my heart knew you were close. It’s hard to explain to others the pain I feel being to far from home. Being far from home also means I am far away from you. I can’t handle that much right now.

Once your Grandma Hering left the day after we got back home, the relization that I am back home was wonderful, but yet I knew I’d be on my own again. With you Dad deployed it is sometime very lonely. I have wonderful family and friends around but each day I am usually by myself with your siblings. Left to sit with my thoughts and feelings. Most days I am able to put on a “face” and pretend I am ok. I laugh, I smile, I talk. In essence I “live”. But the emotions really aren’t genuine. I have only felt a couple of moments of real happiness since you’ve been gone. Real smiles, real joy. It’s exhausting trying to pretend. I’ve come to the point where I realize if I pretend to long the huge waves of grief comes crashing back quickly. The heaviness, the intense grief, and feeling like I can’t breathe. It hits hard.

Today, Thursday the 3rd of August, was a hard day. Really hard. There’s a new pain and a new grief I feel now. It’s the pain of knowing that just one year ago starting August 1st, you were alive, living, growing, nurtured, and cared for inside of me. We found out we were pregnant with you exactly one year ago on the 1st. I can’t quite explain the kind of pain that brings. Knowing one year ago you were with me 24 hours a day 7 days a week. This grief is very different. Very different from the grief of the pain of your death. Remembering the excitement, bliss, joy, and overwhelming love I had (and still do) have for you. Remembering the complete innocence I was still living in. Not having any idea what the end of the 9 months of pregnancy would mean for me. What it would mean for you. That the joy I had about carrying another baby wouldn’t end in a happily ever after as it has 4 times before. It wouldn’t end in bringing home a sweet baby for us to take care of and watch grow up. It’s very overwhelming remembering all of it. I would do anything to change what happened to you, but I can’t. I hope you know I would do anything Turner if it meant you were here.

Today the tears freely flowed on multiple occasions. Today the tears couldn’t be contained. Today when your 3 year old brother came up to me and said, “I miss baby Turner. I want to hold him and kiss him again.” Instead of simply saying without tears, “I know bud, I miss baby Turner, too” I actually cried. I let the tears fall and they fell hard. And when he followed his comment with, “Baby Turners in heaven. I wish I were in heaven with him” my tears fell even harder as I felt and understood his words. That is the first time he has ever said anything like that. He knows where you are. He knows you are in Heaven with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and that we will see you again. No 3 year old should have to have these conversations with their mother about the baby brother they were so anxious about. I allowed myself to just be to just sit in the emptiness I feel. The uncomfortable life I am living right now. I allowed myself to be fine with letting the tears fall and not trying my hardest to pick myself up immediately out of the pain or pushing it aside the best I could. I allowed it to come.

It is a strange feeling to not want to feel this heaviness, pain and grief, but yet at the same time I don’t ever want it to leave. I don’t want it to leave because the grief I feel is because the overwhelming love I have for you and will always have. I don’t want to be “ok”. I know I probably won’t ever be truly “ok” but rather I’ll learn how to be content in the new world I now live in.

Today was hard. Today I learned that it is ok and perfectly fine to let my tears fall whenever they come. To not feel bad about who may see it. To not hid my grief at home or in public. Today I learned that I just need to BE. And nothing more. Slowly learning how to live in my world I find myself in and growing into the new person I am trying to become.

Just when the day was going to end in a bleak feeling and I just wanted it to end, you gave me peace and comfort. While sitting out at your grave the most glorious sunset appeared in the sky. Magnificent oranges, yellows, purples, and pinks. It was amazing just sitting here with you watching the sky turn amazing colors and knowing that you we providing that gift to me.

You reminded me that I am blessed even in my pain. Blessed to be your mother and your siblings mother. Bless to be able to raise your siblings. Blessed to be he wife of your father. Blessed to have his love. Blessed in so many ways. Blessed to know that you are ever near even though most days you feel so far away. Blessed to have experienced first hand how heaven is so much more closer than I can or will ever understand.

Whenever I feel you near it almost feels like I can physically reach out and touch you. It feels as if you are physically touching my heart and soul. Thank you for giving me the comfort I needed and the peace I needed, even if it was in my for a few moments in time. Thank you for loving me my dear son. Thank you for giving me a little piece of heaven here on earth tonight. I miss you more than words can describe sweet boy.

About Us

Turning Hearts is my own personal space to express my thoughts, feelings, and reality of having a child who was stillborn at 38 weeks. We are hoping to help support and comfort those who are walking this path called stillbirth, anyone who has lost a child or those who are trying to support a family going through this trial. All are welcome.